


in another life (maybe we're better)

by shineyma



Series: and carry me away [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, F/M, Season/Series 03, crossover between my own fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16050218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Jemma has an abrupt wake-up, Grant is annoyed, Grant is having the time of his life, and Jemma hates EVERYTHING.





	in another life (maybe we're better)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/gifts).
  * Inspired by [(in love is) where we belong](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9009826) by [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma). 
  * Inspired by [current drag me down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059394) by [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma). 



> This is a birthday gift for the lovely JD, who is my favorite JD of all the JDs and who I love the mostest! <3
> 
> As it's her birthday (and because my first three fics didn't work out *sigh* writing is hard), I went with a crossover of what I know are two of her favorite 'verses: [current drag me down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059394/chapters/16048108) and [the universe hopping AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/962367). For those familiar with those: this takes place BEFORE any of the current drag me down stuff, but AFTER both universe hopping fics. So Grant doesn't know about Levens, but the 'verse hoppers have been at this for a loooooooong time.
> 
> I hope that makes sense! I'm v sick right now, so it - and this fic - might be slightly incoherent. Sorry! Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review! AND GO WISH JD THE HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS! <3

A sudden, jarring motion from Grant is what wakes Jemma, but it’s the disgusted, “Oh my God, my _eyes_ ,” from a distinctly female voice that has her shooting upright.

The scene that meets her freezes her just as fast, because the woman who obviously just spoke, the one with a hand slapped over her eyes and her face twisted in utter revulsion—it’s _her_.

Well, obviously it’s _not_ , but it certainly _looks_ like her: another Jemma, nearly identical to her save that she’s dressed in tac gear and, to Jemma’s own eye, rather underweight.

And next to the other Jemma is another Grant—also dressed in tac gear, in perfect shape, and, in counterpoint to Jemma’s double, looking perfectly pleased with the situation.

…Despite, she might add, the fact that the Grant next to her has a gun leveled at him.

It truly says something that the _least_ surprising thing about the scene is the low-hanging storm cloud hovering behind the two of them, almost directly above Grant’s dresser.

(A storm cloud. Indoors. Behind two doppelgangers that have somehow managed to appear in the middle of Grant’s _bedroom_ in his highly secure base.

What on _Earth_ is going on?)

“You have three seconds,” Grant—threatens, really. (His tone is far too dire to call it anything else, even if nothing he actually _said_ was threatening.)

“Okay,” the other Grant says, spreading his hands in an (utterly unconvincing) attempt at showing innocence, “short version: we’re you from another universe. The walls between universes are coming down and we’re fixing them. We’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes. No need for things to get messy.”

“Right,” Jemma’s Grant (she feels a guilty thrill at thinking of him as such, but surely it’s important to be precise) says flatly. “Sure.”

“Really,” the other Grant—Ward, she decides; it’s just easier that way—says earnestly. “I’m not here to steal your…” He gives Jemma an assessing look. “…girlfriend? Wife?”

“Uh, neither,” she says—hopefully not as wistfully as she feels. “We’re just…having sex.”

“What?” her own double asks, hand dropping away from her face—the better, Jemma supposes, to pin herself with an incredulous glare. “ _Why_?”

Jemma…truly has no idea how to respond to such a question.

To her surprise, Ward seems just as puzzled.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Grant says. He still hasn’t put lowered his gun. “Give me the long version.”

“The _long version_ ,” Jemma’s double says, transferring her glare to Grant, “is that you are a traitorous, untrustworthy _moron_ in every universe—”

“Ouch,” Ward says mildly.

“—and helped Hydra bring an ancient Inhuman back from the hell to which it had been safely banished for millennia,” she continues. “Said Inhuman then proceeded to cast a…a…”

Though she didn’t so much as pause at Ward’s interjection, she hesitates now.

“It’s okay,” Ward says, patting her kindly on the shoulder. “I got this.” He looks to Grant with a conspiratorial smile. “She hates to say it, but the guy _cast a spell_.”

Jemma can’t contain a scoff.

“I know, I know,” Ward says. His smile shifts into something almost _fond_ as he looks at her; it makes a strange emptiness unfold in her stomach. “There’s no such thing as magic, right? We didn’t think so, either—not till good old Hive went and tried to use it to make you return his feelings and tore a hole in the multiverse instead.”

…Jemma must have misheard that.

“ _What_?” Grant asks.

“Yeah.” Ward grimaces. “I was getting to that part—he’s in love with Simmons and isn’t happy she doesn’t want anything to do with him.”

Jemma’s head spins. The mere thought—it’s truly incomprehensible. An ancient Inhuman in love with her is strange enough ( _anyone_ in love with her is strange enough), but that he should be moved to try _magic_ to win her over? And to fail and _break the multiverse_ in the process?

…Suddenly, the obvious occurs to her. She feels quite dim for missing it before.

“Oh,” she says. “This is a dream.”

The other her scowls. “I wish.”

“’Fraid not, sweetheart,” Ward says—and even though he’s not her version, the endearment makes her heart skip a beat. “Go on, pinch yourself.”

Jemma does. It hurts.

Well, then.

“Not a dream,” she says, rubbing her face. “So the multiverse really has been damaged because an Inhuman is in love with me?”

“Unfortunately,” her double says sourly.

And, Jemma realizes suddenly, she’s _naked_. There are visitors from another universe in Grant’s bedroom, and Jemma is wearing nothing but a thin blanket.

Well, it’s nothing they haven’t seen before—one of the visitors is _literally her_ —but still, she’d rather be dressed. She shifts towards the edge of the bed, intent on retrieving the clothes she discarded last night, and is stopped when Grant catches her elbow.

“Where are you going?” he asks—without, she notes, taking his eyes off his double. He still hasn’t lowered the gun.

“To put some clothes on,” she says.

 _That_ gets his eyes on her. “In front of them?”

“She’s me and he’s you,” she points out—and is a little proud of how unconcerned she sounds. In all honesty, she _doesn’t_ want to get dressed in front of an audience; it’s only that her desire not to be naked any longer outweighs her reluctance. “It’s not as if—”

“It’s not as if he’ll be _watching_ ,” her double cuts in, giving Ward a shove. “Go wait in the other room.”

“Awwwww,” Ward says, “but—”

“But _nothing_ ,” the other Jemma snaps, and grabs his arm. “Come _on_.”

Apparently unmoved by the threat of Grant’s gun, she then proceeds to drag Ward through the door into the sitting room.

The silence they leave behind is very, very loud.

“Um,” Jemma says after a long moment. Grant is glaring at the door with great concentration; she hates to disturb him, but… “Can I…have my arm?”

He starts, then releases her.

“Is what they’re saying possible?” he asks as she gets up.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” she admits. Since the storm cloud has disappeared from above the dresser (fixated as she was on the visitors, she somehow missed what happened to it), she risks fetching clean clothes from the drawer set aside for her. “I probably would have said no, except…”

“Except,” Grant agrees dryly.

Their doubles are certainly compelling evidence—although their behavior is a puzzle.

As though reading her mind, Grant comments, “That other you doesn’t like me much.”

“No,” she agrees, frowning. “I can’t imagine why, but—”

He chuckles as he finally stands. “Of course you can’t.”

It’s just wistful delusion, she’s sure, that tricks her into thinking he sounds fond.

Further conversation is put aside in favor of getting dressed, which Grant accomplishes faster than Jemma—mostly because he foregoes a shirt and contents himself only with jeans.

“I wanna keep an eye on them,” he says in response to Jemma’s questioning look. “Take your time—and if you hear violence, you stay in here.”

He waits until she nods her acquiescence, then goes out to the other room.

As she’s been instructed to take her time, Jemma does so; she delays long enough to use the bathroom, brush her hair, and even put on a little makeup (just enough to cover the bags under her eyes—staying the night with Grant is sexually satisfying, but doesn’t allow for much rest) before joining the others in the sitting room.

When she does, she finds Grant calmly sipping a cup of coffee at one end of the couch, Ward nearly wheezing with laughter at the other, and the other Jemma standing in the middle of the room, apparently speechless.

 _Apparently_ being the key word, because she finds her voice easily enough to demand, “You’re _Hydra_?!”

It’s clearly aimed at Jemma.

“Well, yes,” she says, a bit taken aback. “Was that…in question?”

“Of _course_ it was in bloody question!” the other her snaps. “Why are you making such horrible choices? Sleeping with _Ward_ , working for _Hydra_ —ugh!”

She actually stomps her foot at that last.

“Okay, okay,” Ward gasps, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Calm down, Simmons. It’s not the first time.”

“That _doesn’t make it better_ ,” she snarls at him.

“Oh, I’ve gotta disagree,” he says. “The look on your face—!”

She scoffs and whirls back to Jemma. “Why him? Of all the men in the world!”

“I…don’t think you want me to answer that,” Jemma says, eyeing her warily.

It’s too bad, really—she’d love to get into this more. The idea that there are universes out there where she _isn’t_ working for Hydra (because those versions of her would never turn their backs on SHIELD? Or because they’d never had the opportunity?) and _isn’t_ sleeping with Grant (because she doesn’t love him? Or because he wouldn’t have her?) is fascinating. She wants more detail—wants to hear _everything_.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem likely that she’ll get to, not with the other her so close to apoplectic with rage.

“Try me,” her double invites.

Well, if she insists… “Because I love him.”

It’s no surprise that the other her shudders.

“But _why_?” she demands. “What’s to love?”

She actually sounds _plaintive_ , as though she truly wants to understand. But how to explain something so obvious? The two of them must have lived _very_ different lives, that this most basic of things is different between them.

Jemma shrugs, at a loss. “What’s not to?”

Ward makes a strange noise.

“And you’re _not_ dating her?” he asks Grant.

Grant levels him with a look Jemma can’t read at all, though Ward doesn’t seem to have the same difficulty.

“Ah,” he says, and returns his attention to the other Jemma. “Why is this bothering you so much? I haven’t seen you this angry since that universe where you were a harem girl.”

“Why are you so pleased?” she demands in turn (even as Jemma is mouthing ‘harem girl’ to herself. Perhaps she should try questioning Ward; he’s obviously in a much more talkative mood). “You can’t add this one to your list if they’re only fuckbuddies—”

Though nothing she hasn’t thought herself, the word still makes Jemma flinch. Grant sets his coffee down heavily.

“Are you two gonna fix the universe, or what?” he asks. “We haven’t got all day here.”

“ _We_ do,” Ward says brightly. “And I have more questions.”

‘More’ questions? Remembering the state she found them in, she wonders just what she missed by taking her time.

In any case, as Grant looks like he’s thinking about going for his gun again, Jemma hurriedly interjects. “Actually, I have questions, too.”

“Of course you do,” Grant and Ward say simultaneously—to Grant’s clear annoyance. Jemma bites her lip to hold back a giggle.

“We always do,” the other Jemma tells her. “Let me guess, you want to know about the other universes?”

“Well, yes,” she says.

“It seems there truly are an infinite number of possibilities,” the other Jemma says, and counts off on her fingers, “We’ve visited universes where magic was real, where soulmates were a recorded phenomenon instead of a romantic notion, where we were royalty, where SHIELD never existed—there was a universe where we were an _eye doctor_ , if you can believe that—”

“A _pregnant_ eye doctor,” Ward interjects, and Jemma’s heart does a strange little flip in her chest. “With my kid, by the way.”

Jemma deliberately doesn’t look at Grant. She couldn’t bear to see him frowning at the idea—or worse, looking wistful. She suspects he might have wanted children with Kara, and knowing he’d never want them with her…

“And,” her double continues loudly, “there was a universe where _everyone_ _on Earth_ had somehow been turned Inhuman. We were clairvoyant there.”

“Clairvoyant?” Jemma asks, distracted from her pain. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” her double says. “Then there are the countless universes that were so close to ours as to be identical at first—just a small change here or there to separate them. It would be fascinating if it weren’t so bloody annoying.”

“She just doesn’t like how often we’re together,” Ward says, appearing quite pleased with himself. “We’ve been to fifty-nine universes now, and we’re together in forty-six of them.”

“Forty-five,” the other Jemma corrects swiftly. “I told you this one doesn’t count.”

Ah. There’s that pain again.

Jemma thinks she knows why her double is so annoyed by this universe. If she and Grant having regular sex doesn’t count as ‘being together’…that must mean that in those other forty-five universes, they’re actually in _relationships_.

This—Jemma hopelessly in love with an indifferent Grant, trading her morals and her body for whatever scraps he’ll give her—must be a first. No doubt it angers the other her to meet such a weak, pathetic version of herself.

“Yes, it does,” Ward says mildly.

“No, it _doesn’t_ ,” Jemma’s double insists.

“Yes, it—okay, look,” Ward says, and turns to Grant. “Would you shoot anyone who hit on, kissed, or otherwise touched Simmons?”

Grant scoffs. “Of course.”

“What, really?” Jemma asks—entirely without meaning to, but… _really_?

“Yeah,” he says…and then pins her with a narrow gaze. “Why? Has someone been touching you?”

“…No?” she half-asks, half-says.

His eyes narrow further.

“Some of the guards on my lab have, um, said some things,” she says delicately. Which is rather an understatement, but she finds that she simply can’t bring herself to admit just what sort of behavior she’s allowed from the guards in front of this other, stronger her.

Grant’s jaw works silently.

“See?” Ward says brightly. “I’m clearly about to break some skulls over you being bothered. Totally counts.”

The other Jemma opens her mouth, but whether she meant to agree or argue further, they’ll never know; she’s interrupted by a strange chiming noise that makes her sigh in relief.

“Finally,” she says, and picks up an odd, blue, antenna-sporting box (presumably the device by which she fixes the universe’s walls; Jemma’s fingers itch to examine it) from the coffee table. “This universe is fixed. Let’s go.”

“But,” Ward starts—mostly to annoy her, if Jemma’s any judge.

It works. “ _Now_ , Ward.”

“Fine, fine,” Ward says, pushing to his feet. “You never let me have any fun, Simmons.”

“You don’t _deserve_ to have fun,” her double says curtly. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”

Ward rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue the point.

“Jemma,” her double says, drawing her attention. “I don’t want you to take the news about all those other universes as proof that you’re stuck with him. There’s a lovely astronaut named—”

“Whoa, no,” Ward says over her, and then physically covers her mouth. “Did you miss the part where he’s about to break some skulls? Don’t let yours be one of them, Simmons.”

Darting a glance at Grant, Jemma’s forced to admit that he _does_ look rather close to violence. But surely it’s not just because the other her was about to—what, name someone else she might love?

The other her shoves Ward away.

“Stop _doing_ that,” she orders. There’s another storm cloud brewing behind her, wisps of shimmering mist wrapping about one another to form a large, inexplicable mass, but she doesn’t pay it any mind. “Just because I’m _your_ best option doesn’t mean—”

“We’re clearly meant to be,” he tells her, voice full of false earnesty. “You’re messing with _destiny_ , Simmons!”

If looks could kill, he’d drop dead on the spot. As they _can’t_ , he survives to smile smugly at Jemma’s double.

…Who takes advantage of his amusement to exclaim, “Will Daniels! He’s the best man you’ll ever meet, far better than—”

“Okay, bye,” Ward says hurriedly, and then he’s dragging the other Jemma into the storm cloud, and—it’s gone. It disappears behind them with a strangely muted _pop_ , and that’s apparently that.

Jemma falls into the nearest armchair, head spinning with…well, with everything. It’s all quite a lot to take in. She expects Grant to be feeling the same—which is why it’s such a surprise when he crouches in front of her.

She didn’t even hear him leave the couch.

He cups her chin, grip just shy of painfully tight, and holds her eyes steadily.

“You’re gonna forget that name,” he orders.

“O-okay,” she stutters, taken rather aback by the fury in his face. Is he…actually _angry_ at the suggestion that she might seek out this other man?

“And you’re gonna tell me _everything_ about those guards,” he continues. “I want names, descriptions, and a very detailed list of offenses. You hear me?”

Jemma nods.

“Good,” he says—and then he pulls her forward, into a brief kiss that steals her breath by its tenderness. “You are _not_ just a fuckbuddy, Jemma.”

Her heart leaps and then twists and then, for all she can say, does a bloody loop-de-loop. She can’t feel anything but the warmth of his fingers on her face.

“I’m not?” she breathes.

“No,” he says, and releases her chin. “You might’ve started that way, but you’re more than that now.”

It’s hardly a declaration of love—or so Jemma tells herself, very sternly. It doesn’t stop it from _feeling_ like one, like all of her wishes have come true all at once.

“You mean something to me,” he concludes. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

That said, he straightens to his full height and moves away.

“I’m gonna finish getting dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “and then I want that list.”

It should stand as proof that he’s not where she is, that he doesn’t feel as strongly for her as she does for him—that he can drop the subject so easily…surely that should hurt.

But it doesn’t.

He’s angry about the guards. He plans to hurt them for their offenses against her—and he doesn’t even know the worst of it!

And she _means something_ to him. She never thought—she never dared to hope—!

Perhaps she _is_ pathetic—especially compared to that other her, who carried a gun so easily and was confident enough to snap at Grant, who loved a man named Will Daniels—but for once, she doesn’t feel it.

For once, she feels like she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.


End file.
